


Say Something Stupid, Won't You

by Without_Bounds



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Angst, Coffee Shops, Confessions, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Sex, It's 1:21 Am And I Don't Believe In Sleep, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Not Beta Read, Pining, Rating May Change, Unrequited Love, apparently
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-13
Updated: 2018-05-13
Packaged: 2019-05-06 03:04:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14632758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Without_Bounds/pseuds/Without_Bounds
Summary: This was new. Domesticity, that is.Or, Eobard and Barry hold hands, and neither of them quite know what to make of it.





	Say Something Stupid, Won't You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [neoneco](https://archiveofourown.org/users/neoneco/gifts).



> Alternatively titled "With writes about hand-holding bc Neoneco needs to suffer"

This was new. Domesticity, that is.

It had been _years_ since Eobard had been to a cafe like this one. The dewy morning sun seeped into the main room of the shop tinting the world a warm yellow as idle chatter hummed about them, reality blurred like an afterthought as they stumbled into the cafe. Thawne felt out of place, and some vague emotion not unlike shame settled in him as Barry sat him down by the window in some creaky old chair before wandering off to buy them coffee.

The blond’s only solace was that this was really all Barry’s doing. This morning, as Eobard had stood to get out of bed, Barry - still flush and prone from the night before - had rolled over in bed, gingerly curled his fingers around Eobard’s retreating wrist and _begged_ to be taken out for breakfast. The younger man’s voice had still been hoarse, and the sound slid down his spine like rain. And there was no way his dick could deny Barry’s pleas. So here they were, steaming mugs cradled in freezing hands, as the winter-morning coffee shop light filtered through the window next to them.

This had to be toeing the line. Whatever label they were currently using to define… _this_ certainly didn’t include sappy morning-after dates at hippie coffee shops. Or hand holding. And at present, they were doing both. Which made something in Eobard complain but this felt like the wrong time to bring it up for committee discussion. Especially when Barry, with his sleep-drunk eyes, turned to face him. And promptly let a slow, lazy smile droop across his face as he squeezed Thawne’s hand, one calloused palm pressing into another. He could already feel a startled blush crawling up his cheeks as he choked back an undignified noise.

Barry just laughed, bringing their clasped hand to his face, pressing his chapped lips against white knuckles. In immediate response, Eobard pressed his mug into his face, chugging the scorching liquid with no concern for his freshly burnt throat. Briefly, Eobard glanced up at his partner, who was gazing at him with something The Reverse was tempted to call fondness. Why couldn’t they have just stayed in bed and fucked the morning away? He could’ve handled that. It was familiar, and what they _usually_ did. But oh no, instead he was in a room that smelt like old coffee and was dotted by sleep-deprived college students sitting next to some _demon_ who too busy was wearing the blind-filtered sunlight like a bloody blanket to care about things like _boundaries_ and the _status quo_.

Barry’s hand was so warm against his. He would forever deny how much he liked it, and this little coffee date. For all his complaining, it made him want to be back in Barry’s bed, curled up against the naked body of the other speedster, one hand pressed against a fluttering heartbeat. The thought made him nostalgic for the precious minutes he’d had to himself this morning, where he could just gaze and gaze and gaze at the other man as he traced the soft curves of Barry’s stomach or thumbed over the angles of his cheekbones. Allen had woken up shortly after Eobard, but those quiet minutes had been bliss. Sighing grumpily, the blond choose to sink himself further into the wicker chair, cradling the coffee with his free hand, while pointedly ignoring whatever Allen happened to be doing.

Whatever Allen happened to be doing was pressing kisses into his knuckles. They were soft, feather-light things that felt too intimate for this affair of theirs. He had Eobard’s fist cupped between two palms, and the warmth permeated the chill seeping through the glass. A light blush dusted the brunette’s features, his face glowing with delight. Barry’s fond smile crinkled the corners of his green eyes, but didn’t hide the mischief flashing in them. Eobard, watching Barry for the corner of his eye, would have snapped at the man if he wasn’t too busy forcing down a blush of his own.

 The whole encounter was making Thawne think things he shouldn’t be, like how lovely it would be to do this more often and how disgustingly _loved_ he felt right now. This thing between the two of them was never supposed to be fluffy, it had started off as hate sex, just another way of blowing off steam that left them with more bruises but less broken bones than their alternative methods. Feelings had never been on the table. And yet, and yet.

He took another swig of his coffee.

“You’re pouting, Eo,” Barry sighed. 

“I do not pout,” Eobard said, as he continued to pout. A breathy laugh came from Barry’s end of the table. His hand got another squeeze, and a soft noise escaped Thawne’s throat. Barry practically purred in response, and this time there was stopping the flush that overtook his face.

“Either way, you,” Barry gave his hand small peck, “Look,” another kiss, “ _Beautiful_ this morning.” Barry’s tone was more than a little sleepy - perhaps staying up til 2 am fucking each other’s brains out had been a bad idea - but impossibly sweet. It stuck to the back of the blond’s teeth like honey and he found himself instinctively sucking at his tongue. If he hadn’t already been blushing like a schoolgirl Thawne definitely would have been by now.

Gingerly, Barry pried Eobard’s hand open, unfurling the tightly bundled fingers until the blond’s fist opened up into a splayed palm. Allen just… held it, guiding his fingers over and around the planes of Thawne’s hand. Fingertips brushed over scars and rolled over veins. Occasionally, Barry would make quiet muttering noises, or tut to himself as he hovered over a particularly nasty cut. All the while, the hand cupping Eobard’s gently eased its thumb back and forth over the skin by the base of Eobard’s pinky. Thawne drank up the attention, clutching absentmindedly at his mug as he stared openly at the sunlit man sitting across from him.

Barry’s ministrations paused for a moment and it took everything in Eobard to not protest, but it wasn’t long that he was left unattended. An easy breath escaped Barry’s lips as he brought Eobard’s palm to his cheek, his eyes slipping closed with the movement. Thawne took the opportunity to thumb along Barry’s cheekbone. He was delighted by the fact Barry had continued to hold the back of his hand even as his palm cupped Barry’s face.

“What are we, Eobard?” Barry sighed. Thawne nearly choked on his spit. His mouth opened an closed like a fish, his rapid-fire thoughts were discarded as quickly as they formed. There was no right answer to that, not with the dilemma that had been plaguing Eobard the whole outing. As if sensing the blond’s panic Allen clarified, suddenly very sober, “You don’t have to answer. I just-“ Thick black lashes parted as Barry’s eyes darted around the room, looking anywhere but Eobard. The Brunette’s word choked themselves out, getting caught in the pale column of his throat.

Eobard felt his brows furrow. “You can tell me, Barry.” The Flash finally met his eye, but his hand dropped from Eobard’s, and in turn, Thawne pulled his hand away from Barry’s face. He didn’t want to stop holding the other man, but he was following Barry’s cues here, and Eobard wasn’t in the position to push boundaries.

“I know that, I just… It’s just that…” Thousands of emotions filtered over Barry’s features and Eobard felt dismayed at his inability to help. “Do you love me?” 

This time Eobard’s heart came to a complete stop, and could _feel_ the blood draining out of his face. Looking for something to ground him, Eobard felt his hand grabbing the mug of coffee, holding it between him and Barry like a shield as his fingers fiddled with the handle. Did he love Barry? In all honesty Eobard couldn’t _tell_ . Not because he didn’t care for the man, but because he’d never felt this way about anyone before. No relationship he’d ever been in had lasted past the second date, and this was _Barry Allen_ they were talking about. He’d idolized the man since he was ten. Allen was refusing to look at him again.

Swallowing thickly, he debated his options. Regardless of whether he said yes or no he wouldn’t be completely _lying_ but he also wouldn’t be telling a whole truth either, so it boiled down to a matter of pragmatism. If Barry loved him and he said yes, it would probably make the other’s world, and avoid any awkwardness that might ruin what they’d both worked so hard to build - Eobard could always fall in love with him later. But if Eobard ended up not loving him… Well, Savitar had been a mighty fine example of what a broken Barry Allen looked like. However, if Barry loved him and he said no, that he needed time, Barry would understand, and best case scenario they carried on as they did right now, and if Eobard was able to give a proper answer when he better understood his own feelings. But Barry might cut this off, or Eobard might feel too awkward about knowing he’d rejected the other men to continue it. He didn’t want that. 

There was always the off chance Barry didn’t love him though, and was just asking because he suspected Eobard did. In which case answering negatively would be the best option. Things would go back to normal, and Eobard could smother any budding feelings he had for the brunette before they became problematic. Which was _definitely_ how you were supposed to deal with your emotional issues. Answering positively, in this case, would be the worst possible thing he could do. It would be _humiliating,_ and Barry would think he was some kind of freak. That he couldn’t see that this was always supposed to be and always would be sex without feelings and that it would never be anything else. Eobard was too proud for ridicule like that. 

A shaky breath drew him from his thoughts. Barry had turned to face him again, obviously about to say something, but question his own decision. Eobard leaned forward in his chair to show the other that he had Eobard’s full attention. In a hushed whisper came, “I love you, Eobard.” He took in a sharp gasp. Somehow, hearing it in words was so much more powerful than just considering the notion. “I think- I think I always have. Since before you were Harrison Wells and pretending to be a paraplegic, since your younger self came to Star Labs for the first time, since I found out you- you _killed_ my mother, since I locked you in that fucking cage in Flashpoint, since the Legends told me you were still alive, since you showed up on Earth-X playing at mad scientist. Since- since…“ Barry choked down a sob, blinking back the tears now glistening in the sun as he tried not to cry in the middle of the cafe. Eobard desperately willed himself to _move_ to do _something_ to comfort the other man, but he just sat there. “I love you, Eo, I _love_ you.”

“Barry…” Eobard started, not knowing where he was going with the sentence, but reached forward to take Barry's hand anyway.“I think you’re the first person to ever say that to me…”

“ _Oh._ ”


End file.
